"Ay, you've hit it now, Sir Hilton. That's what it was--the sun."

"Yes, the sun," a.s.sented Sir Hilton, before turning again smilingly to Molly. "Yes," he repeated, "I feel sure that Lady Lisle will be most grateful, and that she will call upon you to express her grat.i.tude for the kindness of La Sylphide."

"Oh! Sir Hilton--" began Molly; but she stopped, for he went off, wandering strangely again at the mention of that word, but only to be brought up short by the trainer.

"There, what did I say, Sir Hilton? You were not fit to go, but you would insist upon coming home."

"Ah, yes," cried the baronet, recollecting himself again. "I remember now--I was ill--in bed--there was the doctor--I grew better, and wanted to come home, and the landlord insisted upon bringing his little nurse."

"That's right, Sir Hilton."

"But I didn't want him, and I don't want the little nurse; do I, Syd?"

"No, uncle, of course not. But I do, darling," whispered the boy, nudging his wife.

"Quite right, my boy. So now, Mr Simpkins, I thank you once more. Will you have the goodness to take your daughter and go?"

"No, Sir Hilton, with all due respect to you," said the trainer, drawing himself up; "seeing how things has happened, and what it all means to me and mine now, I say as you ain't fit to be left. Is he, my dear?"

"No, dad. I think he looks very ill."

"That's right, my dear," whispered the trainer. "Here you are, and here you're going to stop."

Sir Hilton had turned angrily away at the trainer's reply, and went out into the hall, followed by Syd.

"What impudence! Not ill a bit now, only a little thick in the head.

Hang him! Let him stop, Syd; but what about that girl? I don't know what your aunt will say."

"No, uncle; no more do I."

Sir Hilton pulled out his watch and glanced at it. "Here, confound it!

My watch has stopped. What time--"

Before he could finish his question the clock began to answer by chiming twice.

"Half-past what?" cried Sir Hilton, staring at the clock-face, and then pa.s.sing his hand over his eyes impatiently. "I say, here, Syd, my eyes are not clear to-night. What time is it?"

"Half-past three, uncle."

"Half-past what? Here, I'm getting mixed. Why is it half-past three?

What has the clock been gaining like that for? Here, Syd, why don't you answer, sir? I can't remember. What does it all mean?"

"I think it's because your head's a bit wrong, uncle," said the boy, shrinking.

"I think it's because you're an impudent young rascal, sir," cried Sir Hilton in a pa.s.sion. "Ah! I remember now; I promised you a good thrashing for--for--"

He stopped short, and looked vacantly at his nephew for some seconds.

Then--

"Here, what the deuce did I promise you a good thrashing for, sir?"

"A thrashing, uncle? Let me see--"

"Bah!" cried Sir Hilton, turning angrily away and making for the drawing-room again, to find the trainer mopping his forehead where he sat, and Molly leaning back in the corner of the quilted couch dropping off to sleep, but ready to start up at his coming.

"Here, you," he cried, "that boy Syd's an idiot."

"That I'm sure he's not," cried the girl, indignantly, "and you oughtn't to call him so, even if you are his uncle. Syd!"

"You tell me, then," said Sir Hilton. "What did I--Oh, hang it all!" he cried, "I can't remember a bit."

"That you can't, Sir Hilton," said the trainer, nervously, as Sir Hilton stared at him blankly, pressing his hands to his head. "It's just what I told you, Sir Hilton. What you want is a good night's rest, and you'll feel better in the morning."

"But I feel better now--ever so much. What should I want to go to bed for? Why, I've only just got up."

"Oh, dear!" groaned the trainer to himself. "I give it him too strong; I give it him too strong, and it was nothing like what one might ha'

give a horse."

"Look here," cried Sir Hilton, making as if to fix his visitor with a pointing finger, which he kept in motion following imaginary movements on the part of Simpkins. "I wish to goodness you'd sit still. What the d.i.c.kens do you keep bobbing about like that for? What did you say--go to bed?"

"Yes, Sir Hilton."

"But why--why? Didn't I just get up?"

"'Bout 'nour ago, Sir Hilton. You see, we've driv' over here since.

You would get up and come."

"Of course! Home--to my wife. That's right; I can see that quite plain, and--Here you two on the sofa, what are you doing? You, Syd, let that young lady alone, sir. Sit up, my dear. It isn't delicate for you to be going to sleep on his shoulder like that."

"Yes, it is--now," whimpered the girl, half crying. "I can't help it.

I'm so dreadfully sleepy."

"Of course you are, of course. Poor little thing! Half-past three!

Why, you ought to have been in bed hours ago. It was shameful of your father to bring you here. But--but--but," cried the unfortunate man, staring and gesticulating fiercely, "why doesn't someone tell me?"

"I did tell yer, Sir Hilton. The hosses was put in the dogcarts when you would come, and I've seen you safe. Can't you understand now?"

"No, no; not a bit. Here, Syd!"

"Yes, uncle."

"Come here."

"Yes, uncle. There, lean your head back, Molly, if you will go to sleep."

"I can't help it, Syd dear; and I'm so cold."

"Here, pull that over you, then," whispered the boy hastily, and, as the poor girl sank back, he seized and gave the great silk-lined skin a hasty twitch which swept it right over his young wife. "Did you call me, uncle?"